


They Come In Pairs

by nqdonne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Torchwood
Genre: Community: crossover_hp, Crossover, Drunkenness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 13:00:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nqdonne/pseuds/nqdonne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knows his name is Harry Potter, that he is twenty-six years old and that at some point five or six years ago, he came into possession of something Torchwood wants, that Jack wants.  But Ianto plays dumb, and asks him all the right questions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They Come In Pairs

**Author's Note:**

> Written for crossover_hp 2007. Torchwood spoilers through series one (takes place between series 1 & 2); written HP post-HbP (so not DH compliant). The Harry/Remus and Jack/Ianto are implied.

The dark-haired bloke Ianto's meant to be following sloshes the amber liquid in his stout glass, eyes staring unfocused at the swirling liquid, and tosses it back in one swift swallow. He doesn't grimace, but looks relieved as the alcohol burns down his throat. 

He's been in this pub every night for the last week, Ianto knows, because he's sat across the room, nursing a cup of Irish coffee and watched every night this week. Tonight, however, his quarry is especially far gone, and Ianto supposes now is the best time as any to approach him. Jack, after all, says it's best to do it when they're really good and pissed.

Ianto rises from his corner seat and pretend-stumbles across the room, until he flops against the bar near the other man. 

“S'is that good?” he mock-slurs, peering too-intently at the man's green eyes for effect.

“What?” the brunet asks confusedly, and Ianto knows it's because up this far north, his Welsh accent gets him absolutely nowhere. He drops the slur and speaks as clearly as he can manage.

“Is that drink there you're having any good?”

“Oh. Yes. S'is brilliant,” comes the over-exaggerated, and at the end hiccuped reply.

Ianto turns to the bar tender and waves his hand at him. “Two of whatever he's just had, please.”

The other man narrows his eyes at him in distrust, but Ianto just grins and pretends he hasn't noticed.

He knows his name is Harry Potter, that he is twenty-six years old and that at some point five or six years ago, he came into possession of something Torchwood wants, that Jack wants. But Ianto plays dumb, and asks him all the right questions.

“What's your name?” Ianto asks as the bartender slides two tumblers full of golden liquid onto a set of coasters.

The bartender eyes Harry, Harry eyes him back, and Ianto just keeps smiling, playing along.

“S'is this some kind of... sssexual thing?” Harry accuses, wagging a finger at him. “Cause s'I'm not interested, mate.”

More smiling. “Of course not. You just look like you could use someone to talk to. I...” He pauses for dramatic effect. “I understand what it's like to lose someone.”

“How do you know I lost someone?” Harry returns aggressively, rising from his seat, as if to start something.

“I know the look of a man who is suffering. Like I said, I understand. You tell me yours, I'll tell you mine.” He raises an eyebrow in challenge, grabs the tumbler and downs the drink in one go. Lord, it's vile, but he swallows what he now knows from taste is whiskey and tries to enjoy the burn. After eyeing him warily another minute, it seems Harry cannot resist a free drink, and tosses his back, as well.

“My girlfriend died,” Harry says as he slams his glass on the bar.

Ianto can't help it; he laughs. He's fucking morbid, he knows, but working for Torchwood has done that, and having his dead ex-girlfriend saw open the head of a pizza delivery girl, well, that's done it as well. They have dead girlfriends to bond over, and Ianto laughs because this is going to be easier than he thought.

Unfortunately, Ianto has paused too long and now Harry is properly angry. He lunges forward and grabs Ianto by the shirt, shaking him.

“You think that's fucking FUNNY?”

Torchwood has not taught him anything but how to defend himself, and it takes very little effort to get lose of Harry's grip. He avoids a punch to the face by bracing his arms against Harry's chest, holding him away.

“No,” he says, finally dropping the grin. “See, my girlfriend's dead, as well.” Harry goes slack, falling back onto his barstool and Ianto moves back onto his. “Don't we make quite the pair?” he jokes, smiling again as Harry squints at him, tilting his head like a dog hearing a high-pitched whistle.

“I'm Welsh,” Ianto clarifies, and Harry nods like he understands now, but Ianto knows he's too drunk to comprehend that Welsh = Welsh accent = reason for his difficulty processing what Ianto's saying.

“I'm...” Harry pauses, apparently having to think about it. “I'm from Surrey.”

Ianto quirks an eyebrow, pretending he cares. “What are you doing up in Scotland, then?”

“Went to school here. Settled here after... well, after.”

“Right, after.” Ianto signals to the barman that they need another round of drinks. “So, how did your girlfriend die?” He tries not to sound too glib, though he knows he's failing miserably and his tone smacks of small talk.

“Madman killed her,” Harry answers shortly, and Ianto nods, trying to come up with the best way to explain about Lisa.

“Me too. Well, kind of. It's a long story.”

“It always is.” The bartender comes with two fresh glasses and before he can set them down, Harry grabs one and tilts it into his mouth.

Pretty soon, Harry won't be able to stand up, let alone navigate anywhere, which Ianto knows is a bad thing – he needs Harry to lead him back to his place, as the whole plan will go to pot if Ianto has to take him back to his room at the inn. He decides to up the ante, despite Harry's earlier protestations.

Placing a hand on Harry's thigh, Ianto looks into those too-green eyes again and says, insistently, “Tell me about it. But... not here.” He hopes his attempt at looking vulnerable and needy has worked. Jack always says it's his speciality. 

Harry doesn't pull away, his senses either too dulled by alcohol or he's more interested than he let on. Ianto knows perfectly well the progression from grieving a dead girlfriend to fucking in another man's bed, and if his research (or Tosh's, really) is worth anything, he knows Harry isn't opposed to a little same-sex comfort. Trying to push back his simmering resentment that Jack has decided that Ianto, of all people, is ideal for this mission of seduction (is he nothing but Jack's whore?), Ianto smiles sadly at Harry and inclines his head toward the door.

“Can we go somewhere?”

Harry looks wary, so Ianto does his best to affect tears but before he can manage anything beyond a little eye-watering, Harry makes his decision, and stands.

“This'way.” The bar stool, several chairs and a table near the door suffer in Harry's drunken path, and Ianto meets him outside the pub, once he's paid for their drinks (40 bloody quid!).

Ianto reckons Harry's poorly hidden sneer is because he normally gets home by magical means, but Ianto can't yet let slip that he knows all about magic; that isn't part of the plan. Half the Torchwood team still doesn't believe that this Harry bloke and his people are wizards. They all explain it away by saying they're some nutter fringe group who only _think_ they're magical, but after all the Daleks, and the Cybermen, and the Weevils and _Jack_ , Ianto can easily believe. Jack, who certainly must have some kind of magic to explain the unnaturalness of being unable to die. There must be some kind of magic if he can disappear for months and come back nattering on about some Doctor and time travelling and different planets.

Pushing away all these thoughts, Ianto simply pulls his coat tighter round himself and rubs his hands together for warmth.

“Walking, are we?” he asks cheerfully and Harry nods, making a big harumphing sound at his obvious displeasure. Before he can take one step away from the pub, however, Harry's falling. Ianto jumps forward and grabs him round the waist and torso, just stopping him before he lands on his arse on the wet stone lane. 

"Ah, fuck it," Harry curses as Ianto helps him stand, though it sounds more like "Ah, fnuhn ish," but Ianto catches his meaning.

Flicking his mobile out from his pocket, Harry fumbles over the dials, before punching in two numbers and pressing the phone close to his ear. 

"Yesh, hullo, thish is Hurry Podder. Ngnh, Hurry Podder, cub, pleassse!"

Rolling his eyes, Ianto wrests the phone away from him and speaks into the mouth piece, "Yes, hello, good evening. If you could, we'd like a taxi to pick us up from the Cavendish Arms. No, I'm not drunk! What I said was very clear -"

Harry grabs the phone away from him, a smug grin on his face. "Cavendish Arms to Gryffin Cottage, pleassse. Yesh. Five minutes, okay." He ends the call and looks at Ianto with a smirk. "Problem?"

"Apparently being Welsh is tantamount to sounding drunk, sir," Ianto says dryly, his lips pursed together tightly.

“You do sound funny,” Harry remarks, and leans back against the pub to wait for their taxi.

***

Harry fumbles with the keys to the cottage and Ianto again wonders if his angry curses are because he wishes he could simply use magic and be done with it. After the fifth try, Ianto simply takes the keys and opens the door, and Harry slumps against his arm, resting his head against Ianto's shoulder.

“Fanks,” he murmurs into Ianto's shirtsleeve and Ianto pushes open the door.

It's pitch black inside and Harry stumbles forward, muttering something Ianto thinks is 'humous' and suddenly the lights flick on. 

“You know,” Harry says, throwing his jacket onto a side table as Ianto follows him inside and shuts the door behind him. “You never told me your name.”

“You never told me yours.”

Harry looks puzzled, and Ianto thinks it's kind of cute. He decides to put him out of his misery.

“I'm Ianto.”

“Ianto?”

“It's Welsh.”

“You're Welsh.” A statement, not a question, said with the childlike declarative tone of someone a little past drunk.

“Yes.”

Harry seems to think about this and eventually deems it acceptable. “I'm Harry.”

“Lovely to meet you, Harry. Shall I make us some coffee?”

“Um, sure. I just need to...” Harry sways on his feet before plonking down onto the sofa. “I need to sit down.” He relaxes into the cushions, then slides down sideways until he is lying on his side. “Mmmmnnn, warm,” he murmurs and Ianto moves into the adjoining kitchen space to prepare something.

All Harry has is Nescafe instant, which is all right in a pinch, but Ianto (read: Jack) prefers a rich, dark Colombian, fresh-ground. This, at least, will go quicker and it does: the electric kettle has the water boiling in under a minute and with a quick stir of milk and sugar into Harry's cup (who seems like a 'make it as weak as possible' kind of guy), Ianto's good to go after only three minutes in the small space.

“I made yours with milk and sugar, hope that's all right,” Ianto says as he carries the two steaming mugs into the living room. Harry cracks his eyes open and smiles sweetly at him. He manoeuvres dramatically to sit up as Ianto places the milky-coloured one in front of him. Ianto settles onto the other end of the couch, the tips of Harry's feet almost-but-not-quite touching his thigh.

Harry grabs for his mug, nearly burns his hands on the scalding ceramic, then picks it up via the handle and takes a tentative sip.

"So, how long ago did your girlfriend... you know?" he asks, turning his big green eyes on Ianto, who takes a sobering dose of hot coffee before answering.

"About a year. Or more. Depends how you look at it. She... wasn't well for a while before the end."

"Oh," Harry says rather ungracefully, looking away. Ianto purposely doesn't offer anything else, and Harry takes the hint.

"It's been six years, for me. Six years since he... well, yes." Harry takes his own evasive swig of coffee as Ianto swallows some down and looks the other way. He had envisioned this being a bit easier.

"How do you cope, then?" Ianto doesn't really care what an emotionally-stunted drunk has to offer by way of advice, but it's something to get him talking and, Ianto wonders if he'll own up to the same method Ianto has stumbled into. It's easy to forget a dead girlfriend when you've got a cock up your arse, after all. 

Harry seems to think about it a moment, and ultimately does not go for the gay rebound answer. He shrugs. "I teach. At a local public school. We're on holidays now." 

"Oh? What subject do you teach?"

"Um, English." He leaves it at that and returns to focusing intently on his coffee as he drinks it down and Ianto knows it's because he can't explain what he really does. He teaches at a magical school, something to do with dark arts.

"I was always pants at English," Ianto smiles at him. "Dropped it after my GCSE's. I'm a Maths man, myself."

"Yeah, I, um, I like... English. Anyway, it keeps me distracted." Harry's looking away again and Ianto realises they'll get nowhere like this. He scooches closer to Harry and places a tentative hand on his calf. 

"I've found there are other ways to keep oneself distracted." He affects his best come-hither expression, or at least the one he used to use on Jack when he didn't want him to catch-wise about keeping Lisa in the basement. 

Harry is actually _blushing_ , though it could be the heat from the coffee mug he's now got poised at his mouth, or the alcohol getting his blood worked up, but Ianto thinks it's because he's suddenly become rather interested in Ianto's "methods." His black trousers make it slightly difficult, but Ianto's fairly sure a growing, hard cock could also testify to his interest.

"Um, what do you do?" Harry stutters, pulling away from Ianto and hastily setting his mug back onto the coffee table, hard, the ceramic chinking against the coaster. He titters nervously and crosses one leg over the other, effectively hiding his crotch from Ianto's view.

"I work in information technology," Ianto lies smoothly, keeping his eyes focused on Harry's, reading him, and trying to allow himself to be read the way he wants.

Jack taught Ianto how to lie. First with how he greeted visitors to their upstairs one-stop tourist-spot, then with how he smiled politely at Owen's innuendo about him and Jack, about what they got up to on late nights. And finally with how he could lie to himself, about why he was so desperate to save Lisa (guilt) and why he jumped so enthusiastically into Jack's bed, after (relief).

Now, Harry – Harry is a crap liar. It's obvious he's a 'heart on his sleeve' kind of bloke, which Ianto finds sweet, if not a little stupid. He can tell because it's obvious that Harry fancies him and while Ianto fancies Harry (he looks a little like Jack, if it's low light and you squint), if he wanted, he could easily pretend otherwise. Or act as he is now, leering a bit at him, even if he felt no attraction.

As much fun as it is watching Harry sweat and blush, trying desperately to talk his way around the fact that he's actually a wizard, Ianto realises he's not going to get anywhere with finding what Jack wants unless he divulges his knowledge and intent. Ianto's not sure dosing a wizard with Retcon will do anything, and he decided ages ago, in the pub, that he'd best bond with Harry if he wants to make this work. 

He lays a hand gently on Harry's thigh and his head snaps up, eyes wide. Ianto feels his prick twitch in his trousers, but he ignores it.

“Listen, Harry, you can stop lying. I know you're a wizard. It's okay.”

Ianto jumps back, gluing himself to the back of the couch as Harry has a thin wooden stick, clearly his wand, pointed at his chest in a matter of seconds. Fuck, Harry's supposed to be drunk, not packing reflexes like that!

“Who the fuck are you?” Harry demands, eyes blazing with something else now.

“I work for an organisation called Torchwood," Ianto grinds out, pushing himself back and away from the wand. "We deal with alien and supernatural phenomena. I'm not here to harm you. I just need to ask you a few questions.”

The mood has shifted, and now Ianto doesn't feel so in control. Harry has snapped out of his drunken state rather fast, almost to the point that Ianto wonders whether he's been faking it. Or perhaps the coffee just did its job. Harry doesn't say anything, just keeps his wand pointed at Ianto as he breathes heavily through his nose, trying to decide what to do.

"I don't believe you. No one ever just wants to talk."

"I do. Think about it, Harry, you have the upper hand. You can do magic, I can't. We're at your flat. Torchwood is hundreds of miles away in Cardiff." Ianto fails to mention that what's left of Torchwood Scotland are on call, should he need them. Harry still doesn't look convinced, but he does lower his wand.

"What do you know about the Glove of Death, Harry?" Ianto keeps his voice low, focuses in on Harry and makes sure to say his name as often as possible, to soothe him. It's textbook hostage negotiation tactics, or hypnotism, Ianto isn't sure which one. Lisa took psychology at university, and talked about both methods excitedly over dinner on more than one occasion. Fat lot of good it did her in the end. 

Harry's eyes go wide at the mention of the glove, and Ianto can see from the corner of his eye Harry's hand tighten its grip on his wand. He definitely knows what Ianto is talking about, then. Good.

"Listen, Harry. This glove is a very important piece of alien technology. Jack... my employer has great need of it. Our research tells us you may have had it sometime in the last six years. We need to know what happened to that glove." And whether or not you keep it in your flat, Ianto leaves off at the end.

"So, what? You thought you'd get me blitzed out of my head, put on some seduction act and then bring me back here and... what? Question me, shag me? The other way around?"

He's blunt for a head case, Ianto muses. And rather attractive when he's locking his jaw like that and his eyes are on fire behind his glasses. Ianto hopes the shagging part is still on the table.

"Whichever you like, in whatever order," Ianto says with his trademark mixture of economy and teasing.

Harry is studying him again, and Ianto gets the distinct impression he's rooting around in his head - it's like he felt that time Tosh had the pendant. There's a gentle pressure at his frontal lobe and Harry doesn't take his eyes of Ianto's. It's unsettling and Ianto, once again, wonders how he's lost the upper hand.

"Who's the fancy captain?" Harry asks, finally, equal parts curiosity and lust in his eyes. He must have seen Ianto's more... sordid relations with Jack. Maybe even the time with the stop watch... Ianto shakes away the thought, willing the pleasant ripples teasing at his insides back dormant.

"Jack. My boss." 

Harry's quirks an eyebrow. "And?"

"And there's more than one way to cope with a dead girlfriend, sir." Ianto slides his coffee mug onto the table and sits back stiffly against the couch cushions.

"Quite," Harry answers shortly. "So there's really a dead girlfriend, then?"

Ianto tries not to flinch, show his outrage. "Of course, sir. I wouldn't lie about that."

"Why all the 'sirs' all of a sudden?"

"Force of habit." Ianto answers tightly.

"Why does he want the glove?"

"I can't say."

"Because your captain told you not to?" Harry quirks an eyebrow in challenge.

"Because there's a secrecy clause in my contract. I shouldn't have told you anything, period."

"Then why did you?" Harry's eyes are alert with curiosity and Ianto can't help staring at his slightly parted mouth. 

Ianto swallows heavily and looks away from the pink lips. "Didn't want you to use that wand thing against me," he mumbles. "And I really do need that glove. Honesty seemed like the best approach."

Harry studies him, head angled to one side.

"Are you in love with him?"

"I..." Ianto struggles to find an answer. "I don't think that's relevant."

"Of course it is. You're here for him, aren't you?" He pauses, searching Ianto's eyes for something. Ianto can't help flicking his eyes downward under his stare. "I understand that, too, you know. The perfect rebound – older man with an eager cock, who likes to fuck harder and faster than _she_ did. All angles and sharpness, nothing like her." Harry sighs heavily. "Mine was called Remus."

"Oh?" Ianto says, pretending he's not interested. They really do have a lot in common, it seems.

"But you two are still fucking, yes? And you care about him?"

Ianto inclines his head vaguely, essentially answering in the affirmative. Harry continues his narration, bitterness creeping into his voice.

"And you don't know how the hell it happened; it wasn't supposed to happen like that. The perfect rebound." He laughs harshly, deep in the back of his throat. "It's bullshit. Just because it's a man and you're not _gay_ or anything, doesn't mean you can't fall just as hard. Harder. Am I ringing any bells?"

"What do you think?" Ianto intones evenly, belying the heart that is thumping painfully in his chest, the hands that are starting to shake.

"I think sometimes it's worse when you love someone and see them everyday knowing they can't love you back, than having someone you love die. At least you know they loved you, in the end."

"You're very cynical, you know," Ianto says dryly.

"Hmmm," Harry murmurs, just looking at him. "You know the best way to get over it?"

Ianto fidgets with the lining of the sofa. Harry is the one who is bold this time, and he leans forward, resting a hand on Ianto's thigh and placing his mouth at Ianto's ear. "A good, hard fuck with someone else," he husks and his hot breath tickles the hair that wisps over the shell of Ianto's ear. The hand on Ianto's thigh moves upwards, then the palm rubs hard over his crotch, coaxing his cock to hardness.

He doesn't know when it became so easy for a man to turn him on, but just the thought of Harry touching him, moving over him, has Ianto moaning quietly under his touch, shifting his hips to give Harry's better access. In addition to the hand working against him, Harry's mouth and tongue are exploring the erogenous zone of Ianto's neck and jaw and Ianto can't help but think that he's always the one to do this, to worship Jack's body, and it's rarely the other way around. Jack's all hard kisses, foreplay by way of a hard-and-fast blow job and then endless fucking sessions. He knows just the way to touch him to make him come in seconds, but sometimes Ianto wishes it would last a little longer. The sex is always fun, but not passionate, and, oh, is Harry giving Ianto passion – anger and desire rolled into one, and Ianto doesn't protest when Harry jumps up and pulls him up by the hand, then leads him to the back of the cottage.

It's freezing in the room Ianto figures is Harry's bedroom, a heavy draft coming off the large window in the corner, and they stumble toward the single bed against the wall, falling heavily over the edge. Harry fumbles with the buttons of Ianto's shirt whilst simultaneously toeing off his trainers, and Ianto, slightly more efficiently, makes similar work of Harry's top, shoving it off his shoulders and ducking to tongue hotly at his nipples. 

"Oh, fuck," Harry exclaims as Ianto draws his teeth lightly over one nipple, then laves over the sore area.

Ianto pulls off a minute, to shuck off his own shoes and unbutton his trousers, and Harry does the same. They get down to just their pants and socks, then burrow down under the duvet, Harry sprawled beneath Ianto, and they writhe against each other, seeking the warmth of each other's bodies. Harry moves his mouth against Ianto's languidly, gyrating his pelvis against Ianto's in the same, lazy rhythm, and the feel of his hot prick against him causes shivers to run up the length of Ianto's spine. 

The warm down comforter traps their heat, and when Harry's glasses fog from their kissing, he laughs. Harry pulls his glasses from his face and drops them to the floor, then squints up at Ianto and aims for his mouth, but misses. Ianto feels the puff of hot air against his jaw as Harry laughs again, but the sound soon turns into a moan and a wet trail of messy kisses down Ianto's throat as he brings his hand down between their bodies to grasp Harry's prick. The rhythm of Harry's circling hips turns to a series of quick, rutting jabs as he tries to get more from Ianto's tight fist. 

Harry lets out a small sound of disappointment as Ianto's hand leaves his aching prick, but soon turns to a strangled gasp when Ianto pushes his underwear down his hips and goes back to handling him, without the cotton barrier.

"Oh, Jesus fuck," Harry exhales, and then Ianto feels a rough hand on his own cock, fumbling as it pushes aside the fabric of his pants and a smooth thumb pad swirls around the tip and spreads the pre-come down one side.

They frot against each other, knuckles knocking as they jerk each other's cocks and when Ianto clasps his mouth over Harry's, he can taste his own sweat as it slides down the bridge of his nose, over his upper lip and is swept into his mouth by Harry's wicked tongue. If he weren't so close to coming, he'd want that tongue on him, sucking him down, rolling over his balls, perhaps making the journey further back to his hole (though he'd only let Jack do that once). But as it is he'd rather have Harry inside him, fucking him into the mattress, _now_ , and he removes his hand from Harry's cock, glad that he does the same, and moans, eyes focussed intently on Harry's.

"Fuck me, _please_."

With the light from the living room spilling into the room, Ianto sees Harry's eyes go wide and feels the soft exhale of breath against his lips as Harry lets out a sharp breath.

"I need..." Harry looks off to one side, as if contemplating leaving the warmth of the bed. Then he furrows his brow and frowns, muttering, "Accio wand," and in a minute, the long stick-thing he'd pointed at Ianto earlier is in his hand. "This is easier, trust me. Um, you should turn over for this."

Ianto isn't exactly sure what he intends to do with the wand, but he complies, turning onto his stomach and pillowing his head on top of his hands, turning to the side so he can watch Harry from the corner of his eye. He feels the cool tip of what he guesses is the wand touch his hole and flinches, then tenses his whole body.

"Shhh, relax," Harry tuts at him. "This'll feel weird at first..." He whispers something Ianto can't make out and then there's a cool wetness along his crack and _inside him_ and the logical part of his brain connects the dots that Harry has used some kind of lubrication spell, but the rest of him thinks this is just _bizarre_.

"Do you have condoms?" He asks nervously, albeit a bit belatedly, as he's suddenly realising he hasn't thought seriously about any of this, about how he's actually going to have sex with someone other than Jack and you _need_ protection for things like this; people have _diseases_ and such (and Jack is apparently immune, another odd thing about him Ianto can't explain).

"I, um, thought I'd just use magic," Harry says from behind him, and Ianto hears another whispered spell. "It's perfectly fine, I promise."

Harry positions himself over Ianto, lying flush against his back, his cock rubbing along the crack of Ianto's arse, trailing moisture in its wake. Everywhere their bodies touch is sticky and hot, and the sheet below is rubbing abrasively against Ianto's cock, but as two of Harry's fingers probe at Ianto's slick hole and his nerve endings pulse hotly, every sensation becomes one of pleasure. Harry doesn't bother being gentle and the short, rough jabs of his fingers kick Ianto's body into over-drive. His sweat drenches the bedsheet and he shoves his arse back, moaning until Harry swiftly replaces the fingers with his cock in one hard push. It feels as if every muscle in his body is constricting, his lungs sucked of all their air, and Ianto makes an inarticulate choking sound as Harry drives into him in a series of short, shallow thrusts. 

His head has dropped to the mattress now, his arms splayed above his head, grasping futilely under the pillows at the edge of the bed, and he drools and moans into the lightly bouncing surface, enjoying the feeling of being so thoroughly fucked by someone other than Jack. It feels strangely liberating. Just as he's flashing on Jack again, Ianto feels Harry in his head, the dull pressure making him grit his teeth and groan. "I don't like you in my head," he garbles into the mattress, shoving his hips roughly against Harry to further communicate his distaste.

Harry doesn't respond, but the pressure subsides a moment later, though his thrusts do not lessen in their pace or intensity.

"Does he always fuck you from behind?" Harry grunts, digging his fingers into Ianto's hip.

Ianto raises his head an inch and twists his head to meet Harry's eyes. "Sometimes he lets me ride him from the top," he intones dryly and Harry's eyes flash with something Ianto can't put his finger on.

"But you don't look at each other," Harry pants, eyes locked with Ianto's. 

"That's not Jack's way."

Faster than Ianto can think, Harry pulls clean from his body and sits back on his haunches, leaving Ianto's hole aching in his wake, his whole body thrumming with pent up energy. Ianto wrests himself up on his forearms and glares at him, mouth pursed in an unspoken plea.

"Turn over," Harry barks, nudging Ianto's calf with his knee. 

Ianto obliges, if only because he's so used to following orders, and he's realising that Harry is as assertive and demanding as Jack, if not more so. Harry's crawls over him, between his legs, holding himself an arm's length away, tenting the duvet and letting a draft of cool air breeze over Ianto's chest, stomach, cock, and he simply surveys him. He takes in the way Ianto's cock lies leaking against his stomach, the crease on his cheek from pressing too hard and long against the bedsheet, the gooseflesh prickling along his arms and torso. Then he lowers himself down until he's lying between Ianto's legs, cock hard against Ianto's thigh, and he continues his search of Ianto's person, this time with his hands. His eyes do not leave Ianto's, and he finds the probing stare far more unsettling than having Harry in his mind. 

The hands move down Ianto's sides, then down over the outsides of his thighs, running underneath to jerk his lower body upwards, until it makes the most sense to bring his legs to rest over Harry's back, feet tangled in the sweaty down. At the new angle, Harry's cock is now nudging against his hole and a thrill rises unbidden in Ianto's stomach at the thought of sex in this intimate position, the one he'd only ever been in with women, but never with men (or, namely, with Jack).

Ianto tosses his head back, hard, against the mattress as Harry's cock breaches him once again, returning to the same rhythm as before – steady and rough with a littany of muttered curses and heavy breathing as accompaniment. Harry laves at Ianto's exposed Adam's apple with his mouth and tongue, moving up the expanse of his neck then urging Ianto's head back down with a hard nip of teeth at his jaw. A messy kiss turns to just an exchange of heavy pants and shared breaths as Harry drives in harder, Ianto grips at his sides and they just look at each other. It's the expression of genuine concern from Harry as he sees whatever vulnerability Ianto knows he's stupidly allowed to show that brings Ianto to orgasm, and he comes messy between their stomachs.

Harry grins down at him and takes his mouth in a hard kiss, barrelling on until he reaches his own climax, thrusting into Ianto with sharps jabs until he is completely spent, and collapses, limp, against him.

After a minute Ianto is over-heating under the duvet and he can barely breathe with Harry's chest heavy against his, and he reluctantly pushes Harry off. His cock slips from Ianto's hole and he groans at both the last slide of semi-hard flesh against raw skin and the sensation of loss. He's always felt really dirty about it, but part of the appeal of fucking Jack has been the feeling of _fullness_ when his cock is inside him. Ianto's head tells him it's horribly feminine and cliched to want something inside of him, filling him up, but when it's happening, it just feels _right_. 

Harry settles beside him, licking the sweat from his chest, working a tongue over his abdomen, nipple, the crook where his torso meets him arm pit. Ianto throws him a questioning look about the intimate gesture, but Harry just grins.

"Feel better?"

"Do you?" Ianto counters and Harry answers with a knowing look and declaration.

"I'm not the one who needed this."

Ianto meets the intense green eyes and swallows hard. "I think we both needed something."

Harry shrugs. "I guess. Will you..." He pauses uncertainly. "Will you stay? The night, I mean."

"I... I suppose so, yes. I don't fancy having to call the cab company again." Ianto offers a small smile, enough to sate Harry, who flops down and rests his head against Ianto's chest. Ianto tells himself he's only staying to get further into Harry's good graces, so he can get more information on the glove. Realistically, however, he knows it's because he's worn out from the drinking and the emotional strain just thinking about Jack and having sex with Harry has put on him. He's tired, and so he closes his eyes and lets sleep take him.

***

Cold prickles his skin as he wakes and Ianto catches a whisper from his side and feels Harry shift next to the him, the bed dipping slightly. His groin feels tight with arousal and before he can register properly, he feels wetness, heat and pressure around his morning hard-on. Eyes flying open, he takes in Harry, holding himself over Ianto's lower body, slowly easing himself down onto his cock. Noticing Ianto's eyes on him, Harry's own eyes flash hot and he bites his lip in concentration.

"Hope you don't mind," he grinds out, coming down another inch with a sigh. "There are some things I need, too."

"Uhhh..." Ianto manages feebly, swallowing heavy and tightening his stomach, thigh, arse muscles – anything to stop from coming on the spot. It's been so long since his cock felt anything but a hand or hard stomach, and it's a struggle to reign in his body's impulses as Harry settles all the way down and begins to ride him, hard.

"Ah, fuck," Harry mutters, leaning down and against Ianto, bracing himself against his chest and changing his thrusts to short, shallow ones. Unsure of what Harry wants but familiar, at least, with being ridden from the top (it was a favourite position of Lisa's), Ianto brings his hands up to grab hold of Harry's hips and begins to meet his down thrusts with quick, upward jabs of his own. 

They fall into a frenzied rhythm, Harry's desperate downstroke becoming almost painful as his thighs dig into Ianto's sides. With Ianto keeping Harry's balanced, Harry is free to bring one of his hands to his cock, and proceeds to jerk himself off forcefully. His hand flies across his dick, clearly trying to expedite his orgasm, and Ianto's, too – he clenches and relaxes his arse muscles several times in quick succession, milking Ianto's already sensitive cock. They both grunt and pant to quick orgasm, Harry's flushed face breaking into a euphoric expression as he spurts in pearly strings over Ianto's chest. 

Harry lifts himself off Ianto's spent cock a moment later and flops down next to him, breathing heavily. "Fuck," he expels in a big breath and Ianto pathetically moans his agreement. Once their breathing has settled, Harry turns on his side and props himself up on one arm, peering down at Ianto, clearly wanting to talk now. Ianto groans inwardly.

"I'm sorry about not waking you... before," Harry says, looking sheepish. "I just wanted you inside me, and I thought you might not want to..."

"Trust me, I wanted to," Ianto interrupts his apologies. "I haven't done that in a very long time, so thank you."

"Sounds like you need a new boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend."

Harry rolls his eyes. "Then get a new fuck-buddy. Whatever. Just it's clear this Captain Jack is fucking with your head, sending you on errands all over the country – errands that involve fucking other men, I might add – and he shags you nine ways to Sunday without any care for your emotions. He's an arsehole."

"He's not..." Ianto stalls. "You don't understand. Our situation is... special."

"Of course it is," Harry retorts sarcastically. "You research alien technology and fuck immortal American captains who fuck with your emotions. I fight evil wizards and fuck self-loathing werewolves who fuck with my emotions. Either way, we both get fucked."

"You fucked a werewolf?"

"Not when he was... you know. Don't be such a pervert."

"Hey, I'm not -"

"Listen, do you want the glove or not?" Harry interrupts him, and Ianto's jaw drops open. Scrambling up to a sitting position, Ianto looks at him with disbelief.

"You have it?"

"Yes."

"And you'll give it to me?"

"If you want it." 

Harry is doing that thing again, that thing with his eyes, staring at Ianto intensely, willing him to understand something. Ianto worries his bottom lip.

"What do you mean 'if I want it'?"

"Well, do you? Or does _he_? Somehow I can't see you really wanting something that kills with just a touch. It's quite the weapon."

"I know what it does," Ianto snaps. "And I _do_ want it. I need it. _We_ need it – Torchwood, not just Jack."

The truth is, the Doctor needs it, and Jack is determined to get it for him. What the Doctor wants, Jack wants, and what Jack wants Ianto wants. The vicious circle. It's also occurred to Ianto that if the glove truly kills anything it touches, that Jack might want it to keep in reserve for himself. Immortality can be quite the burden, after all. The rest of the Torchwood staff may not have realised this, but he has. Jack wants to leave them – leave him – again. 

Harry shrugs and climbs over Ianto, out of bed. "Whatever." He stretches like a cat, arms poised high over his head, and Ianto can't help stealing a glance at his naked form, which he hasn't had a good look at until now. He is stringy and pale but Ianto thinks him beautiful, right down to his hairy legs and limp cock, which bobs as he leans into the stretch. He's less manly than Jack, but perhaps Ianto likes him because he isn't like him – boyish where Jack is manly. Pretty and non-threatening where Jack is sharp and rakeish.

Ianto shakes away his thoughts as Harry crosses the room to his closet and starts pulling on some clothes. He's thinking way too much about this, about Harry, who is nothing but a one night stand, a means to an end, and he really should get dressed and get the glove, since he's offering. Gathering the duvet around him, Ianto swings his legs over the side of the bed and sits, searching the floor for his discarded clothing. Eventually he finds his pants and pulls them on, then slowly locates the rest of his things and dresses.

When he emerges from the bedroom, he can hear Harry in the kitchen, the kettle boiling and the sound of utensils chinking on dishware.

"Do you like toast?" Harry calls out to him and Ianto responds with a nervous, "Sure!" and moves to stand awkwardly by the sofa. 

Harry comes out with two steaming mugs a moment later and sets them down on the coffee table, pushing aside last night's discarded cups, causing some coffee to slosh over the sides and dribble down onto the coasters.

"I wasn't sure if I remembered right," Harry says, straightening up and facing Ianto, "but you take yours without milk, right?"

"That's correct," Ianto answers and Harry smiles, pleased with himself.

"Toast will be done in just a second. Um, sit down, please."

Ianto reluctantly sits himself down and takes a sip of the scalding coffee. He'll be thankful to be back at Torchwood with proper refreshments, soon. Harry comes in a minute later with two plates of toast and jam, and they eat in near silence, balancing plates awkwardly on their knees and taking long draws of their coffee. As soon as he's finished off the last bite, Harry jumps up and runs back into the kitchen. Ianto hears him rummaging around, and takes his absence as an opportunity to ready himself to leave. He doesn't think he should be here any longer. 

He's nearly to the door when Harry bursts back through the kitchen door, chest heaving, glove in his hand. The Glove of Death. Ianto's breath catches in his throat.

"You have it," he says breathlessly, starring at the object, identical to its twin in every way, except for it's bronze colour.

"I told you I did."

"No, I don't think you did..." Ianto trails off, worrying his lip. Can he really...

Harry holds out the glove; it shines dully and Ianto can feel it pull at him. He fights down the urge to grab it, clutch to his chest possessively.

"I don't want it," he manages finally. Stiffening his posture, he imitates the resolve he is attempting to gather in himself.

Harry is visibly taken aback. "You sure?"

"Yes," Ianto answers, more for his benefit than Harry's. He's not going to do this – run errands for Jack _or_ his Doctor. Ianto is sick of the power Jack holds over him, and he hopes maybe it'll hurt him just a bit if Ianto turns up without it.

Harry studies him carefully before shrugging. "Okay. Well, you know where it is if you change your mind. You know where I am."

Ianto's stomach flips.

"Yes, well, must be going," he says hastily, opening the front door. "Thank you, Harry," he adds, giving him a small smile before he flees out into the cold, closing the door behind him. He thinks he hears Harry call "You're welcome" through the heavy wooden door.

***

Ianto returns to work and it is business as usual. He mans the front desk, makes the team coffee and tea, and cleans up after everyone when they leave. They believe his story, that Harry didn't have the glove after all, that he doesn't even know what it _is_ , that he'd Retcon'ed him and left. Jack looks disappointed in him, and Ianto feels strangely pleased that he won't have the glove to pass on to his Doctor. 

On the train down from Scotland to Wales, Ianto decided he wasn't going to let Jack use him any longer. So when Jack pulls him aside late one night a few days after his return, hands all over him, on his cock, urging him down onto Jack's bed, Ianto gives him a perfunctory blow job, but doesn't let him fuck him. It seems somehow wrong.

A week after Ianto's return, the team is working on a new infestation of Weevils and Ianto is clearing away their morning clutter, as usual, when someone buzzes from upstairs. When Ianto turns to check the monitor, his heart comes to a dead halt inside his chest.

"Who is it?" Jack barks from his office.

Ianto clears his throat. "Harry Potter, sir." His heart has started working again, and is now thudding painfully in his chest, making him gasp for air.

"What?" Jack exclaims, jumping up and stalking out onto the landing. "And what on earth is he doing here? He's not supposed to _remember_ anything about us!"

"I guess Retcon doesn't work particularly well on wizards, sir," Ianto offers and flinches at the annoyed look Jack gives him. 

"Well, buzz him in then. I want to talk to this Harry Potter," Jack huffs, and Ianto presses the button that will open the door upstairs. He knows Harry is curious enough to follow through.

A few minutes later, the heavy steel door rolls back to reveal Harry, looking cool and calm as he makes his way across the bridge towards Jack like he owns the place. Ianto notices Harry's wand sticking out of the back pocket of his rather-tight jeans and swallows hard, both with worry over what will happen if Harry decides to use magic against them and with desire at the thought of that firm arse and all the things they could get up to. And, God, seeing Harry and Jack standing next to each other... 

Ianto suddenly feels a bit warm in his suit. He resists the urge to loosen his tie. Jack doesn't like it when he looks sloppy.

"Mr. Potter," Jack says, his friendly American intonation just barely covering the edge in his voice as he makes his way down from his office. "Funny seeing you here. I was to understand you'd been dosed with Retcon." He shoots Ianto a hard look.

Harry smiles tightly. "I can throw off a Legilimens from the most skilled wizard, one of your Muggle potions is nothing to me," he says easily and Ianto lets out the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. Harry's a better liar than he thought.

"So what are you doing here?" Jack squares his shoulders, tucking his hands into his trouser pockets and glaring down at Harry.

"I have something I thought you'd like." He pulls the glove out of his messenger bag and holds it out to Jack. "Isn't this what you were looking for?" he adds glibly.

Jack doesn't move, doesn't flinch, just stands there, hands kept stiffly in his pockets, jaw locked and eyes blazing with frustration. "Ianto!" he barks after a further moment's pause and Ianto shuffles over, bracing himself for the worst. Harry doesn't turn to look at him approach, just keeps his eyes on Jack.

"Is there something you wanted to tell me, Ianto?" Jack asks, voice strained.

"I can explain, sir," Ianto starts, but Harry cuts in.

"I Obliviated him – wiped his memory with magic - so he wouldn't remember, made sure he'd tell you the story I wanted you to hear," he lies smoothly. "You know, magic, far more effective than anything you lot use to dose people." He's mocking Jack, who clearly doesn't like it.

"Why did you bring this here?"

"I figured it was selfish of me keeping it. I certainly don't need it anymore. It seems you do. Ianto was... vague with the details, but he seemed very eager to get it."

"Not eager enough, clearly," Jack grinds out.

"No, he was _very_ eager, trust me," Harry teases and Ianto can feel himself colouring eight shades of red.

"You should really thank Ianto," Harry continues. "I wouldn't be here if it weren't for him. He really worked me over, hard." His voice drips with innuendo and it's clear Jack is more than aware of the implications. 

Jack's eyes flash momentarily with what Ianto thinks is jealousy, though it's gone so fast he can't be sure.

"What are you implying, exactly?" Jack takes a step forward, and despite being several inches shorter and far more slight, Harry holds his ground.

"What do you think?" Harry challenges, but Jack doesn't respond. Harry snorts derisively. "You can hardly be so possessive of someone you're willing to pimp out to other men in order to complete a job."

Ianto's jaw drops and as Jack silently seethes, Harry turns to Ianto, steps forward and caresses the side of his face. 

"I must say I think I prefer this look on you, Ianto," he says softly, surveying Ianto's Gucci suit. "You really look quite sexy." He leans closer still, until his lips hover just over Ianto's. "But I think I'd prefer to see you out if it just as much," Harry husks, fingering the crisp lining of Ianto's suit and pulling him closer, bringing their lips together in a soft kiss. Breath hitching and a small moan escaping his lips, Ianto leans into the kiss, forgetting entirely where he is and who is watching until he's feeling Jack's hands on him, physically wresting them apart.

"Get away from him," Jack growls, grabbing hold of Harry by the front of his shirt and shaking him. The Glove of Death drops from Harry's hand and clatters to the floor, and when Jack instinctively looks down, Harry uses the lapse in concentration to pull his wand from his pocket and jab it into Jack's chest.

"I'd suggest you let me go and step away from me, Mr. Harkness," he says low and dangerous, stressing the "Mr," and Jack's eyes flash in anger. Ianto can't help the shiver that runs down his spine. "The glove is yours." He indicates the glove with a sweep of his hand before turning and heading for the exit. At the door, he turns and looks right at Jack, voice hard. "I'd appreciate it if you don't send any more of your employees after me. I don't like an unfair fight, but I will use magic to defend myself if provoked."

"I'll just be sure not to send you any more pretty boys," Jack retorts.

"Nor I to you," Harry answers back with a small smile.

Ianto's heart has dropped to his stomach and he is frozen, standing between Jack, who looks torn between bemusement and anger, and Harry and casts him one last sad look before turning and walking through the door. The paralysis wears off when he hears the heavy metal clunk of the door closing and he springs into action, running after him, willing the door to open bloody faster.

"Ianto!" Jack calls out and Ianto turns to look at him. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Nothing, sir, I -" Ianto starts, instinctively seeking Jack's approval, before realising himself and trying again. "I'm going after him, sir." He's sure to say it definitively, looking right at Jack, who looks like he wants to say something, but after a moment, he flicks his eyes away and moves up to his office, glove in hand.

Ianto sprints through the now open door and up the stairs, desperate to catch Harry before he leaves. Harry's just walking through the front door when Ianto reaches the office.

"Harry!" he shouts, and Harry turns at the door. He looks tired.

"Yeah?"

"Why did you come, really?" Ianto pants, still catching his breath.

"The glove... it really was selfish of me to keep it," Harry says, moving towards the counter. "I don't need it anymore. I know you didn't want to give it to him, but I figured if it was me, you could still save face. And I wanted to see you." He locks eyes with Ianto. "And meet _him_."

"I know he's a crap boyfriend..." Ianto tries to fob him off, but Harry is having none of it. He catches Ianto's face with his right hand, jaw pinched between his fingers, and forces Ianto to look at him.

"He's not your boyfriend, Ianto."

"Neither are you."

"Touche." His fingers fall away as if he's been burned and he starts to pace. "Listen, Ianto, I'm not trying to be gallant, come in here and rescue you from anything. Just... I care about you, and I understand where you are right now." He stops mid-stride and looks at Ianto again. "Sometimes you can't heal when you're depending on other people to make you feel better. You need to go it alone, find other ways to be whole again."

"What, like your method? Alcoholism and anonymous shags?" Ianto retorts. "No thank you."

"I'm not suggesting you adopt any of my vices," Harry sighs heavily. "Just... think about what I'm saying. He's not healthy for you. The man I met a week ago was not okay with things. Now you're... I don't know, you seem better. Stronger."

Ianto isn't sure what to say to that, particularly because Harry is right. He feels less bound to Jack, less bound to Torchwood in general. Harry clearly is uncomfortable with Ianto's silence and he continues nervously, trying for a bit of humour this time.

"I take offense to that second vice. I'd hardly call what we did anonymous shagging, and I'll have you know I very rarely get laid, anonymous or otherwise." He chuckles half-heartedly. "And as for the alcoholism - I'm a teacher – we're all alcoholics during term holidays."

Unable to stand the awkward conversation any longer, Ianto he leans forward over the counter, grabs Harry's shirt and pulls him forward into a kiss. Harry makes a surprised but pleased sound in the back of his throat and, smiling into the kiss, hops up until he's leaning his upper body weight on top of the counter, pressing closer to Ianto.

"Would it be wrong if I fucked you here on this counter?" Harry murmurs against Ianto's lips.

"Yes," Ianto laughs.

"What if you fucked me? Still wrong?" Harry pesters, nipping lightly at Ianto's bottom lip with his teeth.

" _Harry_ ," Ianto warns, pushing playfully on his shoulder. Harry loses his balance and ends up back on the other side of the counter, bouncing lightly on his heels.

"It's nice to see you smile, you know." Harry turns serious again, shoving his hands in his pockets and casting Ianto with a concerned look. "This place can't be good for you, Ianto."

"It's fine. I like my job... we do good work here."

"I guess..." Harry shuffles his feet nervously. "Listen, Ianto - I'm not proposing the great romance of the century or anything, but I would like to see you again. When I'm next on holiday, you should come up to Scotland, spend a week with me."

"I don't know..."

"Please? I... I know it shouldn't just be about me, but I really enjoyed your company. When you're as fucked up as I am, you tend to spend a lot of time alone... but I was okay with you. Not afraid to be a bit weird and fucked up. I kind of need that."

"I... I can understand that. It's kind of why me and Jack, well, how we started. He gets me."

"I could get you, too, if you let me."

"Maybe. We'll see."

"I guess... well, I have holidays in two months. I'll... I'll look for you in the pub, then, yeah?"

Ianto doesn't answer, since he doesn't know the answer himself. Knowing how he'll feel in two months is impossible. He doesn't know what he'll feel like two weeks from now. He sure has hell didn't know he'd feel like this two weeks ago. Harry accepts Ianto's non-answer with a sad smile and a shrug.

"Be seein' you then. Bye, Ianto."

He walks through the door, and Ianto has to lean against the counter as his orientation has suddenly gone topsy-turvy. After taking a moment to gather his bearings, Ianto heads back down to Torchwood proper. He knows a rather belaboured and exhausting conversation with Jack awaits him and he tries to figure out what he's going to say. Whatever it is, it'll be a healthy cocktail of truth and lies, just like Jack has taught him. Honesty and deceit, love and hate, life and death. 

They come in pairs.

_Finis_


End file.
